“Guess they didn’t want us in the midst of their mining operation. Maybe they just want us out of the way until they’re finished working around the Alta site.”
“But the Sargasso Sea isn’t going to stand by and do nothing.”
“They might not have a choice if the Cuban Navy shows up.”
“That’s not going to go over well with Al.”
“There’s not much he can do about it. If the military is running the show here, we’ll probably have to wait for some sort of political resolution.” He leaned back in the chair. “We might just have to sit tight and relax until they can barter us back.”
Summer shook her head. “They’re not going to be able to conceal the damage from the mercury releases.”
“That’s true. There’s something else bothering me. Did you see the shore workers dressed in hazmat suits and breathing devices?”
“They must know about the mercury in the sediments.”
“Maybe, but there was something else. Their suits had clipped to them small monitoring devices—like the pocket dosimeters used by sailors on nuclear submarines.”
Summer thought for a minute, then shook her head. “No, you may be right. I remember examining the geological makeup of a thermal vent in the East Pacific Rise. There were concentrations of uranium and some rare earth elements in the surrounding basalt.” She looked at her father. “Could it be they’re mining uranium from the thermal vents?”
Pitt nodded. “It would explain the high degree of security. And maybe why the Alta was sunk.”
“You think the Cubans created that hole we saw in the side of her hull?”
“One of the men on the diving bell said he saw an unknown submersible just before the drill ship sank.”
“But why would the Cubans be interested in mining uranium? They don’t have the technology to create a weapon.”
“I don’t know,” Pitt said.
They both fell quiet, overcome with a feeling they had stumbled onto something much more sinister than they knew.
44
Giordino shook his head in frustration. “Are we anchored to the seafloor?”
Although the lights of the Sargasso Sea glistened a short distance away, it seemed they could not draw close to the NUMA ship. The inflatable’s tiny motor was overwhelmed, first by its deflated sections, then by a breeze that had stiffened since their departure. Their voyage to the Sea Raker had taken less than fifteen minutes, but they were approaching an hour on the return.
“She’s at full throttle.” Dirk squeezed the motor’s handgrip tight for good measure. “The headwind isn’t helping.”
On the bridge of the Sargasso Sea, Captain Malcomb Smith scanned the waters between the two ships with a pair of binoculars. “There, I see them!” he said to the helmsman on graveyard shift.
“Is Summer and Mr. Pitt with them?”
“It’s too dark to tell. I’m going down to meet them at the boom crane to find out.”
The captain made his way to the port side rail, where two crewmen were waiting with a crane to retrieve the inflatable. Smith caught a glimpse of the boat as it cut around the stern and turned up the ship’s flank. It hung tight against the hull, hiding within the ship’s shadow as it approached the crane.
Smith stepped to the side rail and leaned over, anxious to see if Pitt and Summer were aboard. Instead, he saw a boat full of black-clad commandos, followed a short distance behind by a second boat. The first inflatable raced to a stop as a pair of grappling hooks attached to rope ladders flew over the ship’s rail. Two commandos sprang up the ladders and vaulted the rail.
The NUMA captain reacted with a shout, shoving the nearest intruder over the rail and back into the boat below. The second commando, the team’s leader, didn’t wait for a repeat performance. He leveled a pistol at Smith and pulled the trigger.
A hundred yards away, Dirk and Giordino heard the popping of gunfire. Although they hadn’t seen the commandos race by, they could guess what was happening.
A few yards from the ship, Dirk swung the inflatable wide around its bow. Under the glow of the ship’s lights, he could see the two assault boats tied amidships with a lone sentry guarding them.
Giordino pointed at the guard, and Dirk nodded. Turning away from the ship, he steered the inflatable in a wide loop until they could see the back of the sentry and then he turned the boat home. With their electric motor, they could approach with stealth.
The sentry was focused on the ship above when Dirk’s inflatable came out of nowhere and rammed him broadside. Giordino leaped off the bow and was on the man before he knew what happened. Lifting the guard off his feet, Giordino slammed him down. His head smacked the housing of the outboard, knocking him out cold. Giordino wasted no time, tearing the rifle from the guard’s hands and scaling the side of the ship.
By the time Dirk maneuvered his inflatable alongside the hull and climbed over the side rail, Giordino was out of sight. Moving forward, he recoiled as he tripped over the bloodied body of a crewman, lying facedown.
The ship was oddly quiet, the main deck deserted. Where were the other commandos—and Giordino?
Figuring Giordino would head for the bridge, he followed suit, heading down the deck until he found the port stairwell—and stepped right into the barrel of a waiting pistol.
Too late, he saw the companionway was cramped with bodies. Captain Smith sat on the steps with a dazed seaman, nursing a bloodied shoulder and leg. Giordino, sporting a nasty gash on his head, stood with a pair of scientists under guard by two commandos.
Then came Calzado, the commando leader, who held his pistol at Dirk’s cheekbone. “Good of you to join us. I missed making your acquaintance aboard the Sea Raker.”
Dirk had no reply as another commando thundered down the steps, stopping at Calzado’s side.
“The bridge is secure, sir,” he reported. “We have complete control of the ship.”
45
Dirk and Giordino hoisted Smith to his feet and half carried, half dragged the wounded captain out of the stairwell. A trail of blood followed across the deck as Calzado marched them at gunpoint to the stern. They found the remaining scientists and crew being herded, under armed guard, into two of the ship’s labs. Calzado motioned for them to join the group being squeezed into the nearer wet lab. Inside, Dirk found the ship’s doctor and brought him to the captain.
“What are our casualties?” Smith asked in a weak voice as the doctor examined the shoulder wound. The captain looked like he would pass out at any moment.
The ship’s first officer, a gangly man named Barnes, responded first. He wore only his skivvies, having been rousted from his bunk at gunpoint. “Assistant Engineer Dyer was killed on deck, sir. We have at least four other serious injuries but none life-threatening.”
“Did the bridge get off an emergency call or beacon?”
Barnes shook his head. “No, sir. They stormed the bridge before anyone knew what was happening. The helmsman reported they were unable to issue any kind of emergency signal. The boarders are still holding Ross on the bridge.”
Captain Smith turned to Giordino. “Did you see any signs of Summer or Pitt?”
“We found the Starfish on board their ship, next to their seabed mining equipment. They must still be aboard.” He refused to consider a less positive outcome.
The captain wheezed. “Who in blazes are they?”
“The ship is named Sea Raker,” Giordino said. “It’s staffed like a destroyer, not a mining ship. Armed soldiers all over the place. They look to me like Cuban regulars.”
Confirmation came a moment later when the door to the lab burst open. Calzado stepped across the threshold and regarded the cramped bay with a surly glare.
“The Sargasso Sea has been seized for violating the territorial sovereignty of Cuba,” he said in clipped English. “You are now priso
ners of the state.”
“We haven’t entered Cuban waters,” Barnes said.
Calzado looked at the first officer and gave a cold smile. “It is my duty to warn you that any attempt at escape or interference with the operation of the ship will be met with severe consequences. You will stay here and remain quiet.”
He turned on his heels and marched out. A pair of commandos slammed the door closed and locked it.
“That’s a load of bunk,” Barnes said. “We are positioned over five miles from Cuba’s territorial limit.”
The ship’s engines rumbled, and they could feel the vessel get under way.
“If we’re not in Cuban waters now,” Dirk said, “we will be shortly.”
Smith closed his eyes as if asleep, but he spoke in a firm voice. “Let’s not tempt fate. Headquarters can still track us and will be alerted when we don’t report in. There will be help headed our way in no time. I want everyone to stay put and do as the man says.”
For Giordino, the words fell on deaf ears. He was already pacing the lab like a caged tiger, calculating a way to pounce on his captors.
46
Pitt and Summer were detained in the office for half a day, until they heard several men enter the office complex. The newcomers convened in an adjacent executive office. With its thin walls and both doors left open, the two captives could hear every word.
“All right, Molina, what is the great emergency that required my presence today?”
Juan Díaz put his feet on a large mahogany desk and looked down his nose at the mining operations manager seated across from him. Despite his own time in the Revolutionary Army, Díaz had an open disdain for the military.
“Comandante, you always stated that the mining operation is to be conducted with absolute secrecy,” Lieutenant Silvio Molina said. Though Díaz no longer held military rank, the militia on-site addressed him in deference to his powerful family connections.
“Yes, of course,” Díaz said. “You and your men were handpicked to oversee the operation on account of your loyalty to the general.”
“During our excavations last night, we had an intrusion at the Domingo 1 site.”
Díaz glanced at an oversized map of the Florida Straits pinned to one wall. An irregular circle, drawn in green and denoted Domingo 1, was marked northeast of Havana. “Go on.”
“An American marine research ship named the Sargasso Sea arrived at dusk and moored near the wellhead site—”
“The Sargasso Sea?” Díaz said. “Wasn’t that the vessel that was nosing around after the drill ship was sunk?”
“Yes, it is a vessel of the National Underwater and Marine Agency. They were the ones that picked up the survivors of the Alta.”
“What are they doing back at the site?”
“I don’t know.” Molina shrugged. “Perhaps they are performing an inspection for the Norwegian owners of the ship. Or perhaps they are CIA.”
“The destruction of the drill ship was made to look like an accident,” Díaz said. “Those were your orders.”
“And it was so accomplished. But I warned you it could attract unwanted attention.”
“We’re on a schedule, and we needed more time to complete the excavation. If the late Minister Ortiz hadn’t given them that sector, of all places, to drill in, we would never have had a problem. We had no choice but to remove them from the site.” Díaz scowled. “I see that the barge is offloading a new shipment. What are our latest stockpile figures?”
“Including the current barge load, we estimate a total of two hundred and eighty tons in readied stockpile. The customer supply ship is arriving in the morning to collect the first half order of two hundred and fifty tons.”
Díaz stood and approached the wall map. In addition to the green circle, there were two red circles twenty and thirty miles farther north into the Florida Straits. He motioned toward them. “The thermal vents at Domingo 2 and Domingo 3 are each ten times the size of Domingo 1. They will easily provide the balance of our delivery, if our yield percentages are accurate.”
“Domingo 1 has proven better than anticipated,” Molina said. “We’ve seen uranium oxide content in excess of fifty percent, which far exceeds the highest known yields from any terra firma mines, even those in Athabasca, Canada.”
“The very reason we pursued the high-cost operations of undersea mining. When will the Sea Raker be finished at the current field?”
Molina looked at the floor. “That’s uncertain. They had completed eighty-five percent of the field operations but are standing by at the moment while repairing damage to the ship.”
“What damage?” Díaz asked.
“It was the American research vessel. While we were conducting excavation operations, they sent down a submersible that approached our bulk cutter machine. We were able to remotely acquire the submersible and bring it aboard the ship.”
“You what!” Díaz said, flying out of his chair.
“It was recording our operation. Calzado, on the Sea Raker, reported that his men concealed the submersible on the ship and sent its two pilots ashore this morning with the barge. A short time later, two men from the NUMA ship boarded the Sea Raker, apparently in search of their comrades. They were discovered but escaped. And they caused some damage with the bulk cutter before they got away.”
Díaz’s face had turned red. “So this NUMA ship is aware of our operation and knows we captured their submersible?”
“Calzado reports that he and an armed party have taken control of the American ship. He doesn’t believe they had a chance to issue a call for help.”
Díaz stared at him. “You did all this without my authorization?”
“It was an urgent military operation and the hour was late. I did wake the general and obtained his approval.”
Díaz glared at the lieutenant. “You don’t think the Americans will miss their research ship?”
“The vessel has been relocated closer to shore. If they raise trouble, we can accuse them of spying in our waters.”
“This has endangered the entire operation just as we are in the final stretch.” He stared at Molina with cold determination. “We must accelerate the excavations at Domingo 2 and 3 at once. I will see if our customer will make early acceptance of the second delivery.”
“The Sea Raker can proceed to the next two fields and set the explosives while the bulk cutter is repaired.”
“When can they resume mining?”
“Within twenty-four hours, if not sooner.”
“Do it,” Díaz said. “Do it now! We may not have even that long before the American ship becomes a major liability. I’m returning to Havana to meet with the general. Have the Sea Raker moved to the Domingo 2 site at once.”
As he rose to leave, Molina stopped him. “What about the submersible pilots we captured?”
“Are they still on the barge?”
“They’re right next door.”
Díaz took his seat with an exasperated sigh. “All right, let me see them.”
47
Pitt and Summer had heard every word. They were shocked at the news that the Sargasso Sea had been captured. Pitt was less surprised about the intrusion and damage aboard the Sea Raker, obviously Al and Dirk’s handiwork.
The stakes were suddenly much higher. Absconding with a nosy submersible was one thing, but boarding and commandeering a NUMA ship was something else. The secrecy and paranoia meant the mining project was a high-stakes operation—with even greater environmental consequences at risk from the two untapped thermal vents.
“If those other two vents are ten times larger than the one at the Alta site,” Summer said, “what happens when they blast those open? Rudi said they already had a report of elevated mercury levels near Andros Island in the Bahamas.”
“Multiply the existing contamination by twenty and you’ve got
a full-blown environmental catastrophe,” Pitt said. “As Rudi pointed out, there’s an exponential risk to marine life due to migrating species passing through the mercury plumes.”
“During the BP oil disaster, the great fear was that the spill would reach the Florida Straits and carry up the East Coast,” Summer said. “The danger here is much worse. If the toxins are released in the middle of the Florida Straits, the methyl mercury could spread through the food chain and contaminate fish stocks from Texas to New England.”
Two armed soldiers roused them from their chairs and escorted them to the room next door.
“These are the two people who were spying on our mining operation,” Molina said as they were brought into the office.
Díaz nearly fell out of his chair at the sight of Summer. She was equally shocked to find her captor was Juan Díaz, but she found her words first.
“Professor Díaz,” she said with a sarcastic emphasis on the title. “I didn’t know your anthropology skills included murder and kidnapping.”
“There is much about me you don’t know, Summer Pitt,” he said.
She started to respond, then looked past Díaz. Resting on a sturdy table in the corner of the office was the Aztec stone she had discovered at Zimapán. The horror of the events that followed came flooding back. “You murdered Dr. Torres in cold blood.”
Díaz responded with a cold smile.
“You know this woman?” Molina asked.
“Yes. We have a shared passion for Aztec history.” He walked over to the stone and grazed his fingertips across its surface. “A pity the other half didn’t remain aboard the wreckage of the Oso Malo in Jamaica.”
“Yes,” Summer said, regaining her composure. “Ironic, actually. The other half ended up in Havana, destroyed on the Maine. It was under your nose all along.”
“Yes, I, too, discovered that Dr. Boyd was aboard the Maine with the other half of the stone when the ship blew up. Still, you have been very helpful in providing data on where the treasure may still lie.”